


The Girl in Blue

by Xxsweet-venom-kissxX (PinstripesAndConverse)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: An exploration of Barty Crouch Jr between his last year of Hogwarts and his trial, Death Eaters, F/M, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Older story being edited and added to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/Xxsweet-venom-kissxX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a radio, a moment interrupted by his father. Barty Crouch Junior, from before he took the Mark, to his trial, and after. BCJrxOC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dancing to the Radio

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: A moment with Barty Crouch Junior, involving a radio playing some popular rock and roll, interrupted by his father. Before he dabbled in the Dark Arts and got his Mark. Set around 1977, making Barty around 15, having just taken his O.W.L's. I'm going with David Tennant as Barty in regards to his looks. 
> 
> This originally started off as a one-shot that was inspired by the movie "Pirate Radio", and the viewpoints people had on rock and roll when it first started becoming popular. I figured the views on rock and roll would apply to the Wizarding World as well, maybe even more so for the old-fashioned families. And then I kept adding chapters to explore the early period of Barty Crouch Jr's life before Azkaban. 
> 
> I finished this in 2011 on ff.net and am currently going back through and doing heavy edits and additions, since my writing style has changed. It's likely I'll be expanding and adding new content, as I've had an idea for years regarding this story and I just never had the time to come back and work with it.
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading.

Summers were once his favorite time of year, the only time he was free of obligations and able to pursue what he wanted. More often than not, Barty devoured the books within the family library and spent time with the other children who lived nearby, or snuck into the kitchen to help Winky prepare a meal for his mother. His father came home at a decent hour and would at least attempt affection with his wife and young son in a house where politics were left at the door.

And now, several years later, they were walking through the house and into the backyard, decorated with floating balls of soft, glowing light and tables covered in the good family linens. He could hear the guests greeting one another as he leaned on the wall beside the window, a finger holding back the heavy curtain just enough to take a peek and see who he was being forced to put a show on for.

He hated the summers between Hogwarts years. The large house felt empty now, not as big as he thought it was as a child, half of the rooms covered in sheets but never allowed to collect dust. It had stopped being his home some years ago, after his father began taking dinner in his study and barely kissing his wisp of a wife on the cheek. He had his mother, and their elf Winky, and a hole filled with excuses and pardons and anger.

But Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, always managed to be home for the party his wife painstakingly spent months arranging and planning. And he had reminded his son of keeping the peace and not mentioning current events. 

A moment of reprise for those facing the dark topics every time they enter the office, he said.

Rumors flew off of the lips of everyone at school, as they had for the past few years. Disappearances, deaths, picking sides. Most of the major players for Voldemort had graduated some years ago. Present students spoke highly of Voldemort, of his ideals, of his actions, and were already recruited with plans to take the Mark after graduation. Regulus was stuck within his family’s pureblood supremacy and pride and already bore his Mark as one of the younger members. 

Regulus was his ticket away from all of this nonsense.

Barty turned away from the window, letting the heavy curtain fall with a soft thump. He picked up the tie on his bed, a paisley patterned thing with swirling blues and purples his mother had bought on one of her good days, and crossed his room to the mirror to put it on.

A soft knock met his ears as he finished slipping the wide end of the tie through the knot. “Barty, are you dressed?” 

Her voice was soft today, he noticed. Feminine and loving as she tried not to strain herself fussing over meeting demands. 

He tightened the knot and straightened it, flipping his collar back down. “I’m coming,” he replied, his tone neutral. He grabbed his jacket, which was hanging on his closet doorknob, and slipped it on as he stepped out of his bedroom to meet his mother.

“Presentable as a baby Hippogriff, mother,” he said, buttoning his suit jacket as her fingers pushed a stray hair out of his face. 

Her blonde hair was pulled back into a chignon, hiding how thin it had become, her dress soft and made from a dark plum color, with beading on the bodice and the sleeves loose. Traces of the bags under her eyes were nowhere to be found. Guests would praise her for keeping up with fashion trends and she would be seen as an ideal, healthy, Minister’s Wife.

“Don’t talk like that. Your father…” 

“Must make a good impression if he wishes to become Minister for Magic, as everyone keeps reminding me.” Bitterness seeped into his voice. “And yet, he can’t be bothered to care about his own family? About you?”

She took his arm as they headed downstairs, as she always did these days. He sighed, shoving his anger down into his stomach to be dealt with later.

“Winky can only do so much, Mother, especially when I’m away. Surely there’s a break in-between paperwork and meetings.” He amended, for her sake more than his. 

“He cares, Barty, in his own way. Best behavior tonight, please?” They stopped on the landing and she looked up at him, a glimmer of the warning look she used to give him as a child behind her eyes. She no longer had the energy to fully muster it anymore, he realized, or perhaps she knew he might not listen anyway.

“Of course, mother,” he kissed her forehead and they continued down and through the house to the patio and backyard.

She had outdone herself this year. The tree held some of the glowing lights as well, smaller and softer, like the fireflies darting about. Swags of fabric were hung on the perimeter of the space and moved to the gentle breeze passing through. 

Barty wandered through the space after leaving his mother near the door to greet guests, finding a few familiar faces of graduated students interning with the Ministry. He shook hands, a smile easily finding its way to his lips every time. His father’s co-workers had all received the spiel of his twelve O.W.L’s and praised him for his accomplishments and dedication, gushing how his father was probably so proud.

He bit his tongue, every bit of him wanting to retort that his old man had a funny way of showing it.

He was seated between his parents at dinner, the table shared with his father’s closest co-workers and advisors. Barty tuned out the Ministry ramblings of money and laws and so-and-so’s vacation to the continent. He had long since stopped picking up his head every time someone called his father’s name, their shared name with a different suffix, as no one ever addressed him anyway. Which was quite fine with him.

The tables were cleared some time later and the small orchestra picked up their instruments, playing a selection his mother had spent days putting together. Guests paired off to dance while others grouped together to finish conversations. Barty was able to slip away back into the house to get a moment to himself, heading down a half-flight of stairs into the kitchen.

He often ended up here when he couldn’t sleep while he was on school breaks. His father’s study was the house library, which had stopped being accessible years ago, when his summers became unbearable. The books were probably untouched, their spines dusted but never opened, the leather likely to creak if they were. It hummed with tension when it was unoccupied during the day and was no longer a space Barty felt comfortable in.

The kitchen was always warm and welcoming, no matter the hour.

Winky was probably outside, attending to guests, but he was far from alone.

A girl around his age, if her style of dress was any indicator, was sitting at the small table against the far side of the wall and fiddling with the radio that always sat there. She was muttering to herself about the wavelength as white noise crackled through the speakers. 

Barty stood there, pondering how she thought it was completely okay to touch someone else’s property without permission. Especially something he had fought with his father to put in the house in the first place.

She found her station, some kind of loud Muggle music he heard when he was in London. The radio only played Wizarding stations when hit with a spell, since his mother loved Muggle classical music and wanted to be able to switch between both realms’ music. 

He had heard this tune before, he realized, in the library and in common spaces with the other Houses. Glimpses of the colorful covers of the black discs had revealed names like “The Beatles”, “Pink Floyd”, and “The Who”. Barty would never admit it, but he liked it well enough, for Muggle noise.

“You listen to Muggle music?” He asked, catching her off-guard as he walked closer to the table. She jumped in her seat and stood, staring at him as she recognized him as a member of the household.

“Sometimes,” she replied. “It’s something they seem to have gotten right.” Smart girl, tip-toeing on the subject without committing to a side, but he found himself agreeing with her.

He finally got a look at her now that she was facing him. Pale, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, green eyes with a note of curiosity in them. Her dark brown hair was braided on either side of her head before it was fashioned into a loose, low, tangle at the nape of her neck. She was another familiar face from inside the castle walls. Her sundress was a subdued blue with a full skirt that fell to her knees, with blue sandals of a similar hue.

“You’re in my year, right?” He slipped into the seat across from the one she previously occupied, undoing his jacket buttons to make sitting more bearable. She followed his action, smoothing her skirt before sitting down. “Ravenclaw?”

“Indeed. We had Charms and Potions together last year,” she replied, nodding once. “My father works in the Department of Mysteries, a close friend of your father’s.” He caught the expression that crossed her face, one children of Ministry workers knew well and exchanged frequently when eye-rolling was not an option; a tight, thin smile that did not reach the eyes and a quick raise of the eyebrows. It was often a moment of mutual acknowledgement of not wanting to be at a boring event with government officials. “I’m Audrey.”

A flicker of recognition crossed his face; she had been partnered with a Slytherin and stuck doing most of the work while her partner sat back and received the same grade. The boy had bragged in the Common Room about getting put with a smart partner and that he doubted she would even want his input anyway.

“Barty.” He offered a hand out to her and she shook it firmly. “Junior, obviously,” he added, the words laced with light sarcasm.

“I don’t know, I see some grey hairs claiming otherwise.” Her eyes went to his hair, searching through the locks for stray hairs, and her face fell as she caught his heavy gaze and unfazed expression. “Sorry. It was a bad joke.”

“It’s alright.” He said, eyes falling on the radio again, hesitantly asking, “The Beatles, right?”

She nodded.

“They’re not that bad,” he admitted.

Audrey rose from her chair and stepped away from the table to face him. He realized she was perhaps five-foot-four, small compared to his six-foot-one frame, and was holding out her hands to him, swaying in place to the music. 

Sod it, he thought, getting up and taking her hands, following her movements.

He spun her out, brought her back. Crossed their arms, untangling them by spinning and bringing them over their heads, backs to each other, before spinning back again. She laughed as he attempted to dance by himself, looking like a daft fool, but he found himself thinking she had a pretty laugh rather than being insulted. She looked just as silly when she danced on her own but she hardly seemed to mind. Several songs passed, a mash-up of different artists melding together as they smiled at each other and continued to dance. 

The music stopped suddenly, replaced by a shriek of static before the radio switched off, taking them both by surprise. Audrey turned to the table with the idea to take a look at the device before Barty put a hand on her forearm, alerting her to the presence of his father in the doorway, his wand arm stiffly lowering. Her face dropped in embarrassment while Barty’s stayed neutral and blank, hardly surprised. He knew what waited for him when everyone would leave, the same routine he’d had since he stopped complying to his father’s whims. 

Crouch Senior did little to hide his anger, his eyes wide and unblinking as he accessed the situation, mustache twitching under his nose. 

“How dare you play that rock-and-roll filth in this house, Barty,” his father growled, keeping his volume low.

“Sorry, Father.” Barty replied automatically, hardly managing a fake tone of guilt.

“Sorry, Mr. Crouch.” Audrey apologized, her eyes dropping to her feet as the tension in the air rose to an uncomfortable level.

“Wandering through a guest’s house unaccompanied is a mark of rudeness, young lady. As you are with my son, the point is moot. I will not tolerate such behavior again.”

She pulled her head up to look at him straight in the eyes, her expression serious. “Yes, sir.”

Crouch Senior stood aside from the doorway and stiffly gestured with his wand-free hand to the hallway leading outside and both of them darted out of the kitchen and into the night with the other guests as fast as they could.

She took his hand for a brief moment, squeezing and then letting go as she flashed him a mischievous smile, which he returned. He had not had such a moment of freedom in his house in a long time. 

“I’m sorry I got you in trouble.” She murmured.

“Don’t be, I’m sure I would have managed to screw something up tonight and earn his ire anyway.” She looked at him with wide eyes and he sighed, realizing he said too much. “Please don’t…”

“I don’t pity you, Barty. He’s a cruel man in the Ministry, I hear, and I’m just…disappointed that it’s bled into his family too.” She took his hand again, her skin warm, and she looked up at him with a smile. “Regardless, I had fun.”

“Me too.” 

A beat passed before she dropped his hand, realizing she needed to find her parents among the lingering guests. They said their goodbyes and he turned to go and find his own mother, who was likely exhausted. He would likely see Audrey in school in the fall in class, but chances of them even talking were low, not just because of different friends but because of the tension between the students and Voldemort’s rise. He was a Slytherin, he was automatically categorized as part of the movement by association.

As he sat in his room later that night, nursing a swollen cheek with an ice-pack, he found himself recalling her smile, her bright eyes, and her laughter.


	2. Seventh Year I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September and October of 1978, the beginning of Barty’s Seventh Year.

Seventh year. The final year all Hogwarts students looked forward to, for the lack of homework and abundance of free time, at least for most of those who took only the required courses. A fair amount had chosen to continue on to N.E.W.T’s, “punishing” themselves, as some students joked. Glares were often cast; some of the students still working hard were determined to be Aurors and fight back against what had happened to friends or family. All-nighters were common and even became a form of social activity for classmates, regardless of House.

To Barty, Seventh Year was the time he knew what it meant to need coffee to function and spending more time in the library or Common Room than he did anywhere else. Academic stress was nothing new and it gave him a purpose. 

He didn’t think about his sick mother and her doctor visits, or how his father couldn’t even be bothered to take her to them and instead spent his days hunting down the very people his son wanted to join. Critics called Crouch’s methods cruel and only managing to fight fire with fire after he allowed the use of Unforgiveable Curses on suspected Death Eaters. Others considered him a revolutionary and exactly what the Ministry needed in these dark times.

If he didn’t fill his head with words, Audrey would occasionally come to the front of his mind. They had five classes together last year and the same five this year; all of those had been N.E.W.T level. They were seated close to each other and yet they had not spoken one word to each other since they got back.

He listened to the radio more frequently now since that summer night. Occasionally, he would let his father catch him in the few weeks he had before he left. With the tension of blood status and views of Muggles on high, he contented himself to be stuck with wizarding rock, even though he longed much more for Muggle contemporaries.

Regulus had given him a look of pity when he saw his friend’s schedule in the beginning of the year after their first day back. “You’re not doing this for your father right? Don’t you want a break?”

“I’m not and no, I don’t. I spent all summer ‘taking a break’.” Barty snatched the piece of paper back and tucked it into the top book on a stack he had on the table beside him. He was trying (and failing) to read the assigned pages of Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration because of the all of the noise and because his mind would not stop wandering. 

“And I bet it still involved books and staying up until dawn.”

“I was preparing.”

The silence between them was full of understanding in the crowded Common Room, preparing not for N.E.W.T’s but for his Mark and for a lifetime of servitude to a blood purist and usage of Dark Magic.

A week after graduation, he would take his Mark and join.

“And you’re sure you want to do this?” Regulus lowered his voice as he leaned onto the armchair casually. 

“I’ve been sure for two years now, Black.” Barty’s tone of finality ended whatever doubts Regulus wanted to voice. He appreciated the concern but he did not need doubt. Not now. “How was the meeting?” 

“Full of the usual. He’s looking forward to you proving your usefulness and loyalty. Don’t be surprised if trust is hard to build at first, being the son of a Ministry figure.” Regulus murmured, his words nearly lost in the commotion of excited First Years and old friends reconnecting. “I’ll be gone for something next weekend, could you cover for me?”

“Of course. Get me a list of what you’ll need done assignment-wise and I’ll figure something out.” Barty replied, peeling his eyes from his book to look up at his friend.

“Thanks, mate.” Regulus offered a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I’m going to go see if there’s anything good left in the Hall before the food goes back to the kitchen, I’ll be back later.” 

Barty nodded, trying to regain his focus on Transfiguration. A stray thought wondered if Audrey was having this much trouble getting ahead of all of their work. 

The next morning at breakfast, he glanced at the Ravenclaw table and saw the tell-tale signs of a late night on Audrey’s face. Most of the time, the dark circles under her eyes disappeared over the weekend, but they seemed to occur more frequently. Which made him wonder if all of her stress was purely academic or more personal regarding the current political climate.

This was ridiculous; they had classes together in a group of fifteen students. He’d talk to her the next time he saw her, he decided.

 

Thursdays were the days he spent outside studying by the Black Lake, weather permitting. He had one class right after breakfast and double-Potions in the afternoon, leaving a gaping hole in his schedule. He might as well make it a productive gaping hole.

Thursdays were also the days he saw Audrey twice. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun by the time Slughorn’s class rolled around, her robes abandoned on the back of her chair and tie tucked into her shirt if she decided against her jumper. 

Barty was nestled in his favorite spot under a tree with a great view of the lake and mountains and shady coverage all day. It was quieter outside of the castle, despite the multitudes of students killing time on the shores and trails of the grounds. Looking up from reading to give his neck a rest, he spotted a familiar Ravenclaw with a large pile of books at her side and a sketchpad on her lap, her gaze intensely focused on the common flower in front of her. 

He read a sentence and then glanced up at her again for several pages before he grew frustrated with himself. He needed to be familiar, at the very least, with the assigned Potions reading he meant to do but instead had focused on Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. He had other things he needed to worry about than a girl he danced with once over a year ago.

And yet he had resigned himself to talking to her the next time he saw her. He needed her out of his head.

Barty huffed, packed up his books and tidied his hair before walking over to where Audrey sat and sitting beside her. She was too involved in drawing the flower to even notice his presence until she heard the weight of his backpack on the ground. Her hand leapt over the page as she jumped from the surprise, a large, dark mark of graphite marring the flower she had painstakingly drawn. She hissed in annoyance, glaring at her own hand before looking sideways to see who had bothered her. 

“Do you make a habit of scaring people, Barty?” She snapped, turning her head towards him.

“I didn’t mean to; I thought you might want some company.” He replied.

“Most people ask if someone wants company, it’s rude to assume.” Audrey closed the sketchbook and tossed her onto her pile of books off to her left, away from him. She sighed, pressing her thumb and middle finger to her eyes and rubbing.

“I just thought I’d be nice. If you prefer to be alone, I can go. We both have a lot of work—“ 

He went to go stand up but felt a tug on the sleeve of his robe. Looking back, he saw Audrey’s other hand grasping at the material, her knuckles white.

“No, I’m sorry. Don’t go. I wouldn’t mind sitting with you, I’m merely surprised anyone wants to spend time with me.” She paused to look up at him. “Please stay.”

Barty sat back down, wondering what she meant. Why wouldn’t anyone want to spend time with her? Her mood was certainly different than it had been that night but their dancing was years ago before things took a turn for the worst politically. A lot of students were worrying about family and friends, were passionate about joining the Aurors or the Ministry in general to get their chance (warned against making a career choice solely on vengeance, but not many were listening), or trying their best to escape the madness they were, supposedly, isolated from.

The presence of Aurors around the castle said otherwise.

She always had a small group of friends, eating with a small gaggle of Ravenclaws, laughing and talking on her way to class. Weren’t they her friends? Had they chosen to leave her behind?

He reached for the book he had previously been reading, opened it, but found himself reading the same paragraph over and over. 

“Why are you left alone so much?” He murmured, looking at her to find her staring off at the lake, knees to her chest with little intent to do her work.

“My father’s gone missing,” she replied, her words automatic, likely from having to answer the question so often. “Mother refuses to even get out of bed anymore. She’s stopped writing. I live off the Prophet in hopes my father’s name appears on the list of rescued, or the list of known prisoners, or the list of the dead.” Her fingers went to the grass, grazing the blades as if she were petting an animal. “My friends look at me with pity. Some hate me. My mother’s said many things to their parents while drunk and has managed to ruin whatever connections I have.”

He was used to his father being out of the picture and his mother bed-ridden, but for different reasons. She had a loving relationship with them, or at least with her father considering her mother’s behavior. He expected to feel envy that she had a father she could worry about. Rather, he found himself thinking of how heavy she must feel, how on edge and tired she must be.

Hesitantly, he reached around and put an arm on her shoulder, his left hand squeezing her left arm lightly. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, returning the gesture with her right arm around his shoulders. 

“What, for this?” He replied, rocking her from side to side slightly, playfully.

“For not pitying me. For not going “Oh, poor Audrey”, “I’m so sorry”, or trying to undermine my pain by saying you have it worse. Or expecting tears at the drop of a hat. For not walking away when I gave you reason to.” She paused, before adding, “And for dancing with me.”

“Thank you for letting me get in trouble.” Audrey looked at him with a baffled expression. “I live to piss that man off nowadays.” 

She said nothing but instead leaned forward to see his stack of books and backpack. “You carry a library with you too, huh?”

“Have to keep busy somehow.” 

Barty let go of her arm and grabbed her discarded sketchbook. She opened her mouth to protest when she realized he took it but merely nodded when he asked permission to open it.

He flipped through portraits, objects, ideas scribbled in the corners of her drawings in hastily scrawled writing. A drawing from behind of a figure sitting under a tree, the lake the main focus of the image. He caught a sketch of him at breakfast, Regulus beside him; Barty’s nose was in a book, Regulus offering a piece of bacon to get his friend to at least eat something.

“These are brilliant.” He said, turning to find color rising in her cheeks. “I quite like that they’re static, they catch a moment in time to never occur again. I quite like this bloke here.” He pointed to the image of himself.

“So egotistical,” she gave a small laugh, snatching the book away from him.

“Just a little.” He held up his right hand, his thumb and forefinger barely touching.

Audrey slapped her sketchbook on his arm lightly. His playful grin softened, realizing he had made her hobby about himself. “I mean it though. You’re talented.” 

“Thank you.”

She placed the sketchbook back onto the pile and sat closer to him, watching the birds fly over the lake and the First Years come and attempt to say hello to the giant squid. Their books laid untouched as they continued to talk about anything that came to mind not dealing with the war or the Ministry. 

“I’ve heard there’s a lot of Gryffindor drama but your House puts them to shame.” Audrey shook her head as he finished a tale about two ridiculous Third Years dueling to figure out who was more worthy of a Sixth Year girl’s attention. 

Audrey checked her watch and then scrambled to gather her things. Barty did the same, realizing they had to still make the trek back up to the castle in addition to the walk to the dungeons. 

The N.E.W.T classes were small enough where assigned seating wasn’t required and partners were allowed to be picked amongst the students. They continued to talk throughout the double lesson when they weren’t focused on Slughorn’s lecture and instructions. She mentioned getting a few new records of Wizarding rock that she thought he might like, while he brought up books he read over break that were helpful for understanding their level of Charms work. 

Both were relieved at the end of class when their potions were in vials for grading. Barty’s potion had certainly turned out closer to the consistency their professor was looking for, but Audrey had gotten the color perfect. 

“Are you heading to dinner or going to drop your stuff off?” Audrey asked.

“Dinner and then the library. I have to finish the reading and questions for tomorrow. Why?”

“We’re in the dungeon, I figured I would ask.” She shrugged with her bag-free shoulder before blurting out. “Why didn’t we go this earlier? Why did we ignore each other last year?”

“No idea,” he admitted. He didn’t have a better answer. 

He had plenty of opportunities to talk to her before today, and vice-versa. Perhaps he did not want to deal with being associated with a Ravenclaw or want her to be considered a vulture, given who his father was. Plenty of people had tried that route, but not her, and he didn’t like the idea of people thinking that of her. 

Not an unusual friendship pairing, a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin, but there was hardly any table-sharing with the latter House. They never left their table and no one ever tried to go to theirs. A part of him thought the stigma was ridiculous but he certainly couldn’t blame them when the Slytherins in previous years were now all over the papers committing acts in the Dark Lord’s name. 

They came to the Great Hall and tried to get out of the way for the passing students far more eager to eat than them. Barty found himself struggling for words; it was too early for a ‘good night’ but it was likely they would not speak until the following day. 

She took his hand, as she had on the first night they properly met before she left, and squeezed it, giving the first genuine smile he had seen from her all day. He gave one back, and found it very tempting not to lean in and kiss her cheek, or better yet, her lips. He settled for her soft hand in his and gave a squeeze back before parting and heading into the Hall.


End file.
